


the problem with talent

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Artist!Reader, F/M, not really fluff not really angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8365873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: sometimes, a little compliment can go a long way.[oikawa tooru x f!artist!reader]





	

the problem with talent. -oikawa tooru-

 

-

oikawa x f!artist!reader

word count: 1754

-

 

Oikawa distinctly remembered a girl in the back corner of his class every year in middle school. Perhaps it was insensitive of him, but he never remembered her name. Her head was always down, and she was always drawing. Her marks were never extraordinary, this he was sure of. She wasn’t one of those students who were repeatedly placing in the top 5 for class rankings.

 

If anything, she was rather dull.

 

He sat on the opposite end of the room from her, so there was never an opportunity to interact. There was just never an excuse to talk. 

 

How surprised he was when he wandered into the classroom 20 minutes after the bell dismissed everyone to see her there, in her usual seat. The difference now being that she gazed out the window instead of the sheet on her desk. 

 

It’s strange how unsettling the sight was to him, after all, he’s barely talked to this girl for the 3 years he’s ‘known’ her for.

 

She noticed him. Oikawa isn’t quite sure when, but he blinks and suddenly his eyes meet her’s. There’s no vibrancy in the (e/c) hues, he noted. The only thing telling him she was still alive were the tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she waved to him with a weary smile. 

 

He’s not sure what he’s quite supposed to do in a situation like this, but he stepped into the classroom and walked towards the girl, stopping a few desks ahead of her. 

 

It’s from this point of view that he can accurately discern the contents written on the sheet of paper sitting on her desk. 

 

It’s a certificate.

 

A certificate for 2nd place.

 

“What’s wrong?” He whispered.

 

She closed her eyes as her tears start rolling down her face, once again she tilted her head down. And the lone phrase that slipped out of her mouth feels strikingly familiar. 

 

“ _ I really hate geniuses. _ ”

 

-

 

She was in his class again, he notes. He jokes in his head about it being some sort of an omen.

 

Oikawa Tooru has never really believed in superstition. But he was always a good observer. 

 

The girl didn’t draw in class anymore, and for a moment he wonders if he just messed up and mistook someone else for her. The doubt is quickly shoved away when he locks eye contact with her once again, and he sees the same glassy eyes as before. 

 

This time, Iwaizumi is with him too. Beside him, no less. So he discreetly leans over towards his best friend and whispers, “Can you tell me the name of the girl sitting over there?”

 

The look on his friend’s look is irritating and unimpressed, but if he had any opposition to the request, it wasn’t like he could voice them in the middle of class at the moment. Oikawa is lucky enough to receive a reluctant answer.

 

“(y/n).”

 

Ah.

 

The name he’s seen scribbled in the corner of numerous contest-winning pieces of artworks. The name of the runner-up in last year’s major visual arts league, the one who was dethroned by a 2nd year and almost overtaken a second time by a 1st year. It’s funny, how he already feels a connection to her.

 

-

 

The first formal meeting between the two of them was rather.. Odd. In a frantic state, the girl was bolting down the hallway of Seijoh High adorning an apron over her uniform with paint smudged across her hands and part of her face. Holding an easel under one arm and balancing a palette stacked with tubes of paint, she truly was a sight to behold.

 

The paintbrush held in her mouth made her look even crazier.

 

Oikawa was mid-conversation with Iwaizumi when she suddenly stopped before them, panting through the object in her mouth as she struggled to catch her breath. They were still processing everything when she started frantically waving her arms back and forth. 

 

Bless his heart, Iwaizumi took the easel away for her so she could hold the paintbrush in her hand and talk freely.

 

“Thanks, you two are on the boys’ volleyball team, right?” She asked.

 

There's an excited undertone to her voice that Oikawa has never witnessed before. As far as he knew, she never really spoke in class, and he can't remember any time the teacher really called on her. He always assumed her voice would be as dull as the look on her face.

 

“... Yes?”

 

She sighed in relief, slumping over a little before straightening back up again once she saw the paint tubes start to collapse from their tower. “Your captain asked me to—design and create a new banner for the team! Since, the old one got damaged and all… I need suggestions! But, I'm too nervous to go ask any of the upperclassmen on the team…” the girl laughed.

 

The setter blinked incredulously.

 

She was really nothing like what he had expected her to be. It was almost unnerving just how  _ different  _ she was from that run-in back at Kitagawa Daiichi. 

 

Delirious, he gives his input, his friend gives his, and she was on her way again.

 

She left a flurry of colours behind in her wake, letting the hues dance in the atmosphere around her and allowing them to give life to her world. Artists are such fragile people, he notes. Fragile people with porcelain hearts worn on their sleeves. 

 

He wonders for a brief moment if maybe she was a little masochistic for choosing such a lifestyle, but he isn't one allowed to judge. 

 

Sometimes, Oikawa worries, because somewhere behind her painted grins and melodious laughter the insecure side to her is sure to still exist. He knows this for sure.

 

It's the same with him, after all.

 

-

 

There's a mutual understanding. 

 

An understanding that only the ‘normal’ people may see. The time and effort rigorously invested in a passion only to have it trampled by someone with tremendous talent. The feeling of crushing defeat, that's something geniuses would rarely get to experience.

 

Both of them knew that feeling all too well.

 

It's easier for him, he decides as he stands on the court with the big lights shining down on him and his teammates behind him. It's easier because there are always others who have his back, there are always others to make him stronger. 

 

He has his friends, his teammates, his coaches, his fans.

 

What did she even have?

 

Sometimes, he swears he can catch a familiar glint of (e/c) in the Seijoh High audience as she quietly cheers the team on in her head. Her presence gives him a sense of reassurance and moral support. It's tough, having to live up to the name of one of the top volleyball teams in the prefecture. 

 

But, he realizes it's also tough to be in her position. To put blood, sweat, and tears into a project and to be faced with rejection and a runner-up title. To have to face loss after loss without someone beside you to shoulder the pain. 

 

It must be frightening.

 

He could remember the image of her lone figure in an empty classroom, denied by the lack of a natural talent. The despair written on her face, it was all there. 

 

On the clean tiles of the gymnasium, Oikawa shines. His analytic skills come into play with his athleticism on this court. 

 

On the clean canvas set on a wooden easel, she excels. Her hands drive the brush across the picture, it's almost like dancing.

 

Two very unstable passions.

 

Two very self-destructive souls.

 

Rinse and repeat.

 

(Toss, elbow back, jump, swing.)

 

-

 

Time really does fly, it felt as if Oikawa had only blinked and he was suddenly a 3rd year already.

 

He stops in the school’s main foyer where the recent results of the latest art competition had been displayed. Unconsciously, he finds himself searching for one with (y/n)’s signature in the corner. But, he can't find it.

 

It's not until his eyes wander towards an area that had a paper slip detailing about a temporary withdrawal does he understand. She had her artwork removed by her own request, and that couldn't mean anything good.

 

The next thing he knows, he’s fighting through the crowds of people loitering in the hall to run to the art room as quick as he could. As he reaches the closed door and wraps his hand around the doorknob, he prays to God, hoping he exists that  _ she’s still here. _

 

He enters the room, and the scene is strikingly similar to the sight he walked into three years ago. 

 

Once again, she glances out the window, her painting covered by a sheet of white cloth while resting on the easel in front of her.

 

There’s an air of uneasiness in the atmosphere, but this time Oikawa isn’t going to stay silent. 

 

“I didn’t see your picture in the foyer.”

 

She doesn’t turn to look at him as she replies, 

 

“That’s good.”

 

He gulps, walking closer. Slowly, he reaches for the fabric. Just one peek, just once, he’s never really seen what she was capable of. He’s never really known anything about her.

 

It’s as if that one action angered her beyond measure. Before he could even blink, her hand yanked the sheet off the painting, exposing it. Yet she still couldn’t bring herself to look in his direction.

 

He’s in awe as he traces the lines alone the canvas, the way the colours blended together, the smoothness of the lines she drew--sure he might not understand a single thing about art but,

 

“It’s beautiful.” He breathes.

 

Her gaze is forlorn and still dejected as she stares at the ground. With a sigh, she adds, “It’s not good enough.”

 

“What do you--”

 

“ _ It’s never good enough. _ ”

 

There’s a pause in his steps, a break in his momentum, and he’s helpless to do anything to stop her tears again. Oikawa is a loss again.

 

But sometimes, all everyone needs is a little support.

 

Setting the picture down on the easel, he moves his hands over to gently cup her face and tilt it up to look at her. There’s a certain emotion in his eyes, one that he does not quite understand himself. She stares up at him with wide open eyes and a quivering lip as she wait for him to speaks.

 

“ _ Personally, I think it’s perfect. _ ”

 

Sometimes, all everyone needs is a sturdy wall to keep them standing.

  
Sometimes, a little compliment goes a long way.

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda self-indulgent bc i sure feel like shit a lot and i want pretty boy oikawa to comfort me lmaO


End file.
